


Between The Shadow and The Soul

by allofthepixels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling, Cuties, M/M, Multi, OT3, Pablo Neruda - Freeform, Poetry, Schmoop-tastic trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:09:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3288080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allofthepixels/pseuds/allofthepixels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The OT3 to end all OT3s lavish Dean with affectionate attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between The Shadow and The Soul

It was hard to explain it. How they came together, that is.

In some ways it was always Dean and Sam: shivering side by side on a motel bed waiting for John to get home, countless nights exchanging whispers, years growing, leaning on one another’s shoulders. 

In other ways, it was always the three of them: something pulling the sheet higher under their chins, quietly answered prayers (so subtle and easily missed), a steady force effortlessly learning and loving the spaces they grew into.

It’s not like one came first and along came the third: it was something cosmic and inevitable, but as simple as breathing. Arms wrapped around shoulders, around waists and necks with fingers woven together — his hand is his and theirs at once.

And it’s nice, Sam thinks. Better than nice.

He’s typing away, watching his brother’s head rest gingerly on their angel’s chest across the room. The latter lifts his head and offers a dazzling grin, gesturing to Dean’s sleeping form with a come-hither wiggle of his eyebrows. 

Sam closes his laptop, padding over to the couch and wedging himself under Dean’s legs, Cas’ arm winding around his neck with ease. 

"How long has he been out?" He asks, sliding a hand around his big brother’s knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. He squirms.

"About as long as you’ve had your head in those files," Cas teased, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. 

"I’m sorry," he ducks his head sheepishly, ears turning pink. "The lore the Men of Letters managed to document here is so extensive, I just —" 

"Sam," he shushed, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "We love to see you in raptures over your research. Your eyes just light up —"

Sam preened just a little bit under the attention, but was interrupted by a snort.

"Quit the chick flick talk over my head," Dean gruffed, pulling both closer to him with child-like grabby hands just the same. "M’fraid I’ll catch the bitch." 

"I love when he gets all romantic," Sam’s fingers wandered up his leg and squeezed blindly up his thigh, making him squirm.

"Dohon’t!" His sock feet scrabbled against the arm of the couch. "Sahahamy!"

Cas’ arms shifted from around Sam, and instead wrapped around Dean’s shoulders, locking his arms in place. 

"Cahas!" Dean writhed around, head thumping back against the angel’s chest. "C’mohohon. I wahahas kidding."

"I think he’s just jealous," Cas clicked his tongue, kissing Dean’s temple with a wry smile. "But I’m sure we have a plenty to say about our Dean." 

"His smile, for starters," Sam played along, pinching at his brother’s squirming hips with delicate precision. "When his nose scrunches just like that…" 

"When he ducks his head just like this…" Cas wiggled his fingers along his neck teasingly slow. 

"You suck," Dean’s fingers wrapped around Cas’ forearm, tugging fruitlessly to get him to release his grip. "You both just suck sohoho hahard. I hahahate youhooho." 

"My favorite thing, I think," Sam stalled his fingers and snuggled closer to his brother as his breathing slowed, "is that he could never ever mean that."

"Never," Cas gnawed at his ear playfully. "No one loves like our Dean."

Dean shivers at the word “our.” He’s theirs. They’re his. There’s comfort in belonging to them, in haphazardly piled limbs and lazy smiles. 

He’d reach out and hold them —one in each arm — forever if he could. It’s hard to explain. 

_"I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,  
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.  
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

_I love you as the plant that never blooms  
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;  
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,  
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body._

_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.  
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;  
so I love you because I know no other way_

_than this: where I does not exist, nor you,  
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,  
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep. “_

_Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda_


End file.
